


let's be lucky people, you & me

by ClementineKitten



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Intimacy, M/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Praise Kink But Like In A Loving Way, Relationship Study, Sappy, Teasing, just a whole lot of bein in love u know what you're getting into with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineKitten/pseuds/ClementineKitten
Summary: In which Kageyama has been upset all day, and Hinata, excellent distraction that he is, cheers him up.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 14
Kudos: 131
Collections: kagsivity's fic archive





	let's be lucky people, you & me

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh kghn make out in a bed and sometimes i evangelize about how they're made for each other. that's all. enjoy  
> (also i'm really bad at tagging my b)  
> title is from lucky people by waterparks

Contrary to popular belief, Hinata notices things.

He’s been told many a time by various captains, coaches, and teammates that he could probably do away with his one-track mind. Well, the joke’s on them, because when it matters, he’s a master of noticing. And he’s grown up a bit since all he really wanted to do was jump and spike. 

He’s not like that anymore.

Not when it’s important.

Kageyama has seemed like something’s been bothering him all day. All through morning, all through practice, and all through the way home. He’s like a dark night when everything is a touch hazy and tired, and when you glance around it’s as if there’s something in your peripherals you can’t quite make out, some kind of ever present shadow you can’t quite shake; that’s what Hinata has sensed clinging to him these past hours.

And usually, anything that’s bothering him is pulled out when he plays volleyball. He doesn’t let anything distract him from _that,_ he never has and Hinata can’t imagine a situation in which he ever will. There’s him, the ball, and the other eleven people on the court, and everything else is afterthought. When he’s playing, he can’t let himself be clung to, can’t let himself panic, because there’s no room for any of it.

It’s not like his playing is affected all that much -- he’s still as amazing as ever, but Hinata prides himself on being able to decode the little things about Kageyama. It all follows -- a mechanical tone to his movements; a quickened tempo to his attacks; a hesitance to his retorts in situations where he’d usually be snarky.

They walk through the entrance to their home, and it’s palpable.

Sometimes, when they get home, the air of the house is different. After a win, to Hinata, it’s like the atoms of every room around him are buzzing with electricity. After a date, everything feels so new and exciting, and it’s as if he’s moving through a lucid dream as the energy plays off his prickling skin. Some days, however, some days when the sky is a little too grey and the snaking chill of the wind is a little too biting, he walks in and there’s sticky, blue film adhering to every part of their living room, kitchen, bedroom. It makes the light hit everything a little too differently, sucks out the house’s uniqueness and leaves it a little too dour.

Such was the case then, such is the case now as Kageyama heads into their bedroom to change out of his practice clothes; Hinata notices these things.

It’s unsettling. Sure, Hinata gets to see a side of Kageyama no one else does, and he relishes in that. He’s not the super cool, confident, suave (Hinata has to laugh) pro, like the persona he tries to affect. Maybe he’s those things sometimes, but he’s also quick to anger, a bit of an idiot, and strangely, strangely emotional, in ways Hinata never expected. In how his eyes flicker. In how he eats meals. In how he gets out of bed.

He’s a language that Hinata has spent the better part of his life learning.

When Hinata creeps to the doorframe of their room, he sees Kageyama standing at the bedside, pulling off his t-shirt, exposing his well-muscled back. Ah, how many times Hinata has seen this, and he never tires of it. As he wicks away the shirt like it were water on his wings, Hinata shuffles up behind him and rests his temple in the dip between his shoulder blades, snaking his arms around his middle and settling interlocked hands where his athletic pants sit low on his hips.

“How are you feeling?” Kageyama’s skin is an interesting temperature. There’s warmth beneath it, in his muscles, in his blood, in his very being, but sweat has left his back cool to the touch.

Kageyama gently rests his palms on his wrists. “I’m fine. Why the question?” 

“Bzzt!” Hinata goes. “Wrong answer.” 

Like he can hide anything from _Hinata,_ of all people.

“Wrong answer? What are you talking about?”

“This.”

Never leave yourself open to confusion, Tobio, Hinata thinks, as he takes that brief moment to tackle Kageyama to the bed. As soon as he realizes he’s been taken for a fool, with wide eyes, he struggles in futility against Hinata’s iron hold and ends up collapsing face-up, blankets that they neglected to properly make up that morning cushioning his fall and crumpling around them.

“Hey, hey.” Kageyama kicks his legs, and his hands go up to hold Hinata’s shoulders while he collapses on top of him, both of them landing in a disheveled heap on top of their comforter. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Hinata smirks down at him as he shifts, adjusting the way they’re lying together.

“What you usually do best,” Kageyama begins, shimmying up against a mound of blankets and propping himself up so he isn’t lying completely flat, “which is be annoying.”

“Tobio!” Hinata exclaims, pressing himself off of Kageyama’s chest. The shocked exclamation has put a smile on his face for what seems like the first time that day, and for a heartbeat, it takes Hinata’s mind off the fact he’s just been insulted. “You’re mean. You’re lucky I’m on top of you right now.”

Kageyama chuckles shortly, and the sound reverberates through Hinata, from the tips of his hair to his toenails. But then it’s gone, almost as if it was never there to begin with, and once again, his face is shrouded in the same taciturn that had hung over it the entire day.

“Hey,” Hinata says softly, “why don’t you tell me what’s actually wrong?”

Sometimes, Kageyama gets into _moods_. Whether it be a criticism that somehow wormed its way into his head, or an approaching death anniversary, or whatever, his response is not really to _ignore_ it, perse, it’s more just to throw himself into other things, more often than not volleyball, to distract himself from it. He reorients eventually, he adjusts, he comes back to normal. Although, Hinata probably thinks it would do him some good to talk out his problems with others and communicate -- but hey, it’s not like Hinata has spent this many years with him and not picked up on a few things.

There’s nary a place Hinata got to in life without undying devotion and persistence, and right here, in this house, with this man, is no exception. He’s here for a reason, and that reason is unrelenting diligence.

Kageyama looks like he’s trying to formulate a response; Hinata likes getting to leave him a little speechless -- or, he would if he wasn’t preoccupied with gross, overwhelming feelings of concern and anxiety that have long since become commonplace.

“I’m adjusting,” Kageyama murmurs, which Hinata translates as something similar to _sometimes, unexpected things happen and it takes time for me to process them because I’m actually not a volleyball robot._ He’s, in some deadpan way, a bit of a card.

“Adjusting, huh?” Hinata allows his elbows a bit of give, running his hands along Kageyama’s bare shoulders and up his neck. Warm, now, he’s warm. “Want to take your mind off things?”

He’s been told many a time by various captains, coaches, and teammates that he makes an _excellent_ distraction.

It’s kind of what he does for a living.

Kageyama pouts a little, but says nothing.

“Come on, King,” Hinata goads, bringing up his hand to rest on the curve of his jaw. “Use your words.”

(Kageyama doesn’t like to admit it, Hinata doesn’t think, but he _definitely_ likes being called King -- at least, when Hinata adorns him with the epithet. Naturally, he uses this to his advantage as frequently as he can. There’s nothing better than seeing professional two-time Olympic athlete Kageyama Tobio squirm when you call him his high school nickname.)

As if it pains him to his very core to acquiesce, Kageyama sighs. “Yes.”

Hinata tilts his head, savouring the slight petulance to his face. “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“You are the worst.”

“That’s _you._ ”

Hinata, truthfully, likes the way Kageyama’s body feels under his. He’s solid, with defined muscles that trail up his torso, down his arms, across his legs. It’s probably pretty dumb to say (or, rather, to think), but every part of him feels so _alive._ He makes the very air he moves through buzz, and he makes _Hinata_ buzz with that very same intensity. Just being near him, especially being near him like _this,_ is enough to make every circuit light up inside Hinata’s mind.

He makes Hinata want to run, to jump, to fully soar with the wind at his back. His presence simply (or perhaps not so simply; who can say) fills him out, gives him something to fight for and against, someone to stand beside and someone to strive to stand over. He makes Hinata want to be the only person who his eyes are on, makes him feel like there’s one person in the world, and that’s him.

He’s solid, and he’s warm, and he’s _here,_ and he’s all of these things as Hinata pulls in his face close, feeling his heartbeat beat in his chest just as assuredly as if it were his own, and gently parts his lips. Kageyama’s hands wander under his shirt, which he has yet to change out of, and his palms settle in the small of Hinata’s back. It’s such a small movement, but it sends spirals of butterflies up and through his stomach, just like it did the first time they kissed.

It’s not that different, nowadays. They’re better at it than they were, that time (Hinata was always better at it, he’ll hold to that, but at the time he was too dizzy and too breathless in his wonder to care), they get to do it more often, but the fire that licks through him has never dwindled in its passion, nor does Hinata believe it ever will. He won’t let it.

He refuses to let it.

He draws out of Kageyama’s mouth, and, from the slight incline he’s managed to gain, lets their foreheads rest against each other’s.

As he does, Hinata feels almost like he’s stolen all his apprehension straight out of him. It’s quiet, and for some hanging moments, all that’s between them is the breath between their lips.

And then Kageyama rasps, “What? Is that all you have to distract me with?”

“You wish,” Hinata responds as he shifts his weight to his hips, thumbing over Kageyama’s cheekbones. “You’re gonna wish by the end of this that that’s all I have.”

“Don’t think you can go underestimating me.” Kageyama’s fingers work their way to grasp the bottom of his t-shirt, and he pulls it off. It makes Hinata shiver, a little, that he’s at this point in his life where that _happens._ That he’s at the point where he’s dating an incredible athlete (while being a great one himself, might he add!) who undresses him in bed.

It wasn’t even something he would begin to _think_ about the first time they met, all those years ago (and it probably would have disgusted him, all things considered), but time wore on, he became unable to really imagine life without it. Maybe _because_ this was always what everything was building to, what his love for all parts of his life was always meant to be, how all of it was meant to slot together like a precise, years-long jigsaw puzzle.

For lack of a better term, Hinata thinks it’s wack.

(He won’t think about it too much in such solid terms; they’re not written in stone, their story is still being penned, piece by piece. They’re ever changing.)

“I think I could tire you out first,” Kageyama continues as he flicks the shirt to the side, where it lands, discarded, in their bed. Hinata edges up, and runs an outstretched hand through short black hair, fingertips running across where it peters off into the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, right!” Hinata kisses him on the tip of his nose -- he’s simpering up at him, now, and it’s a welcome reprieve from the solemnity that had pulled his face taut. “Only in your dreams.”

Kageyama’s grip from behind his back strengthens, and suddenly, Hinata buckles and is pulled flush to his body, cheek hitting his chest. His heart thuds against Hinata’s ear, and for a little bit, he doesn’t know what to say. “You know, this is playing dirty,” mutters Hinata to the skin, there. “I can’t move from here.” He wiggles against Kageyama.

“Stay.”

It’s so soft it hardly sounds like a command, but it echoes through Hinata’s cells, all the time, as Kageyama holds him tightly, like he’ll fade to mist at any given moment.

His chest rises and falls with his breath and with Hinata.

And there, for some time, is only that.

“You know,” Hinata eventually points out, tasting his voice in his throat with how close he’s pressed to Kageyama, “I usually find it helpful when I talk about what’s bothering me instead of clutching someone to me. Just a thought.”

His hands ride up Hinata’s back and settle on his shoulder blades. “Yeah, yeah. Just…”

It doesn’t have to be in this context; Hinata just loves listening to his heartbeat. How it thumps in steady intervals, how it worms into his ears and lives in his mind, how he’s sure it thrums as loud as roiling thunder in the silence between rallies, when he’s up to serve. “Adjusting. Right?”

“Right.”

Hinata brings up his hands and puts them against the top of Kageyama’s chest, right where his pectorals end. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, settling easily into his boyfriend’s lap. Thumbs find the band of his pants.

“I knew you’d be difficult. I signed up for this.”

Kageyama’s brow furrows.

Hinata grins down at him, and his index finger comes up to trace down, slowly, the line that runs down the center of his abdomen. He watches with fascination as his muscles twitch below his touch. “Seriously, though.” He makes a theatrical sigh he doesn’t mean. “I guess we’re at this point.”

“This point?” Kageyama gazes at him surreptitiously.

Hinata’s hands rest. “Compliment you because it makes you all fidgety and it’s cute.”

“Shouyou.”

“That would be me.”

“Shouyou, no.”

“Shouyou, yes?”

When Kageyama eyes him, something similar to but not quite as intense as fear rests beyond his pupils. Hesitance, maybe, is the best word for it. Or suspicion. Hinata loves him -- God, does he ever, with each and every fibre -- but being so direct and outright in compliments isn’t their general style. Mostly because neither of them are too good at reciprocating. Sometimes, though, he needs to be reminded, and who better than Hinata?

“You’re _cute,_ you big, dumb softie.”

Kageyama takes his hands away from Hinata and covers his face in embarrassment.

“I love your body.”

“Good one.”

“Hey, you don’t get to complain.” Hinata trips his fingertips over the lines and folds and dips in skin, touches where there’s softness and solidity. He’s so _big._ His muscles fill him out, he’s _tall,_ and he’s imposing, a force to be reckoned with. No part of him is miniscule, shy, and it shows even in his physicality. This body he’s grown into, a body that Hinata has lived beside for so many more years than just those which they’ve spent living together, is so impossibly close to him. He knows it, perhaps, nearly as well as his own. “I’m serious! I love… your abs, and your chest, and your collarbone." As he says this, his fingers travel, tips teasing over what he mentions. "And your shoulders. They're crazy flexible." He squeezes them.

"Stop it," mumbles Kageyama.

"Nope!" Hinata replies, cheered. He grazes over each hitch in arm muscle as he makes his way up, taking his time, to Kageyama's wrists, which he takes, proceeding to pry them off of his face.

Ah.

He has flushed a deep crimson. A good look on him, in Hinata's opinion; rarely does he ever appear as such. Hinata peers down at him, and he angles himself awkwardly, pressing one cheek to the bedsheets. Mere centimetres from each other, Hinata smiles. "I love your face. You’re so…”

He passes a thumb over where his nose slopes into his cheekbone, and lets it rest on the red, there.

“Pretty.”

Hinata fell in love with someone so devoted, skilled, and steadfast, someone who learned to stand with him, someone who gave him that chance he bled and clawed for to stand on the court as long as possible, and even though it doesn’t matter to him as much as that, the way he looks is a plus, too. Loose strands of black hair cling to his forehead that Hinata brushes aside.

“Shou,” whines he.

Hands move gently through the air as Hinata guides Kageyama’s wrists from the bed to his chest. The warmth that ebbs from his palms finds purchase by his heart. “But these are my favourite.”

“Because they’re how I toss to you?”

“No! Well, I mean, yeah.” Kageyama smirks slightly as he fumbles with his words. “That’s part of it!” Hinata huffs. Jeez, he’s still such a jerk, even when Hinata is trying his darndest to be nice. “I love watching you play, and I love it ‘specially when you set to me, ‘cuz then I get to wow everyone. But you’re the amazing one.”

Kageyama looks askance from the wall he’s made a habit of staring at, up at Hinata. “Don’t tell me you’re selling yourself short.”

“Not at all.” Hinata’s fingers form around Kageyama’s hands. They’re always so well-kempt, his nails are always so short and rounded, and his skin is always smooth (he keeps lotion in his bag! _Lotion!_ It smells like watermelon). Hinata passes over soft knuckles. “I’m great, it’s just that you are, too. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

_You changed my life._ The words hang in the back of his throat, but he feels no need to say them aloud. 

He’s sure Kageyama already knows.

“I don’t think you ever would have stopped, either way.” Kageyama flexes his fingers against Hinata’s chest.

“Damn right! But, at the same time…” Hinata’s voice peters off into the air that hesitates between them. “I’m happy it was you.”

Hinata’s heart thumps steadily, rhythmically, just as his boyfriend’s does. _One, two, three._ It disappears, no longer only his, into Kageyama’s own veins, his blood circulating through him.

Still ruddied from cheek to cheek, Kageyama mumbles, “I’m happy it was you, too.”

Hinata holds both their hands up, working their fingers together as he does so, them fitting together perfectly without issue as if separation were a distant, impossible whisper in the past for them both.

(There’s an old mythological legend, that humans were born with four legs, four arms, and two faces. Their power was feared, and as a result, they were split in twain, condemned to forever spend their time searching for that which once made them whole.

Hinata knows not of this legend -- it’s not in the curriculum -- but he’s, perhaps, fulfilled his end.)

“I love your hands and I love playing with you and I love when you hold me. I love you. That’s all.”

_That’s all_ is a rather succinct way of putting everything, every emotion, inside him, everything that lays comfortably and warmly against his sternum that he’s known most his life, everything that excites and ventures from him in joyous leaps, everything steeped in shaking nerves and uncertainty that somehow stills in moments such as this.

He feels everything, when it comes to Kageyama. It’s all so _invigorating._

Kageyama shifts; he sits up, pulling the bedsheets with him as he settles Hinata differently, firmly on his lap. He comes up to take Hinata’s face, pulling away his hands from his boyfriend’s touch, and pressing into him, gently, softly, but with an underlying urgency that sends a thrill up and down Hinata’s spine.

Hinata’s own hands slip down his back and land, interlaced, near its end. He's pressed, bare skin to bare skin, against Kageyama's torso. There's no layer between them; it's just them, the bed, the road that stretches behind that brought them here, and the road that lies in front that they've yet to walk in tandem. 

The inside of Kageyama's mouth, his cheeks, his tongue, is hot, and every part of him is incredibly, wonderfully enticing, as Hinata lets himself be leaned into, pushed back, weakened, all by his touch.

"Mm." Hinata hums, reticent to leave him. Their lips detach with such a slightness they're left breathing only into each other. He wiggles in Kageyama's lap, and a fun little noise cheats out of him. "You know, I also love--"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

From this close, his dark azure eyes look less like storm clouds and more like pure blue electricity. "I can assume."

"You know what they say about assuming," Hinata reasons, "it makes an ass out of you and me."

Kageyama doesn't have time to get in a snarky word edgewise, as Hinata takes his bottom lip between his teeth and worries the pink skin that lies there. Kageyama puts his hands to his thighs and carefully manoeuvres the two of them to an angle; how they'd been sitting, Hinata realizes, would have had them both toppling out of bed if he leaned anymore back. From here, Kageyama rocks out his legs from under him, swinging around Hinata to put him on his back as he kisses deeper, hungrier. His fingers trace up the sides of Hinata's lithe, shirtless body, playing across the bones of ribs, and coming to pin down his shoulders, pushing him down, forcefully, into the mattress, restraining him with those strong, sturdy hands Hinata loves the feel of so strongly.

An excited rush ripples through Hinata's stomach as he reaches up and scrabbles to grip at the back of his neck.

Hinata _likes_ this; he likes the liberation, the sheer euphoria, of taking flight on the court, bound by nothing, limitless. But at the same time, he likes the present weight on top of him, pressing him down, reminding him what being grounded is like.

He likes the solidity of something he strived so deeply for.

(Whether that something is the man atop him, or his career, who can say. At this point, they're hardly distinguishable.)

“Tobio,” he breathes.

“Hm?”

Kageyama withdraws with half-lidded eyes that makes Hinata’s heartbeat tremble. He is, truly, so unbelievably pretty, from chin to hairline and everything in between. Though it begrudges him to admit, he’s always looked nice, even if he never paid it much mind when they were younger. It throws his already whirlwinding emotions into even more of a tizzy.

“No, nothing.” Hinata grabs his face, instead, and brings those eyes closer to him. He wants them to be on him. He wants to be the only thing Kageyama can think of watching.

_Watch me, and keep watching me._

_Because if you take your eyes off of me, I’ll surpass you._

It’s just as much of a threat as it is a promise.

“Keep going.”

Kageyama indulges him slowly. If anything has surprised Hinata about doing things like this with _Kageyama,_ of all folks, is how it’s the one time he doesn’t play the part of the contrarian. He actually lets Hinata take the lead, and for reasons he can’t quite explain, he finds it funny. Maybe it’s part of his creed, to listen to whatever he says.

But, hey, he’s not complaining.

It’s while Kageyama is trailing kisses down all too sensitive skin, sending a smattering of anxious, anticipating pricks through Hinata as if it were still their first time, that he realizes the error of his ways. “Hey, wait.”

Kageyama obeys. He never gets sick of it.

“Aren’t _I_ supposed to be the one who’s distracting _you?_ "

“Huh.” _Ack--_ The warmth of Kageyama’s mouth makes him squirm, and he lets out a high-pitched whine of surprise. The breath of Kageyama’s slight huff of laughter grazing across his skin puts even more heat into his cheeks. “Guess that means I’m winning.”

“Like heck!” Hinata tries to shrug him off, pushing him up off of his body. He hops forward, pressing a clumsy, wanting kiss to his lips. He doesn’t pull back -- refuses to, actually -- until his lungs give, and his throat ties itself into knots. “This is about making _you_ feel good,” he gasps, putting the tip of his index finger to Kageyama’s chest, “jerk.”

Kageyama bites his lip, and Hinata’s heart bursts. “I’m not going to wait forever.”

“Well, good, ‘cuz you won’t have to.”

Hinata tugs him away, to the edge of the mattress he easily slides onto his feet off of, pulling his knees to flank his hips. Kageyama gazes up at him. They’re always in transit, the two of them, Hinata thinks. Neither of them are so easily satisfied, neither of them have hunger so easily quenched, but it’s in moments like these where he doesn’t mind if the Earth’s rotation stutters a little. “Show me what you’re made of, then,” taunts Kageyama.

Tipping his chin up, Hinata hooks his fingers around Kageyama’s jawline and kisses him, sweetly, needily, in a lackadaisical sort of way. “I don’t disappoint.”

He pushes into him harder, this time with much more intent. No one man can tie down someone like Kageyama Tobio, but Hinata believes, inside his mouth like this, fingers curved at his jaw, he comes pretty damn close. At the same time, he’d never dream of stymying him.

(Having someone like that at your beck and call is one thing, but Hinata isn’t exactly aware of how much he has his boyfriend wrapped around his finger. It’s in times like these where he comes so close to realizing just how devoted Kageyama is to making him feel good.)

Kageyama's head tilts as Hinata works down him, teasing the skin of his throat with teeth that are sure to leave if only the faintest of marks. He has a _little_ shame, but he's never really been one to shy away from his achievements.

"And I love when you're like this." Hinata's tongue stills just below the divot between collarbones, hands on strong, powerful arms, lightly easing Kageyama back down onto the sheets.

"Below you?"

"Right where you're supposed to be."

Hinata leans into the inviting space between his thighs, and the pressure ekes a whimper out of him. "You're awfully overconfident today," he says, sucking in air through his teeth in the descent.

"Yeah, yeah." Kageyama's arms fall to the bed and Hinata lets them, placing his hands on his canvas. It's infuriating, kinda maybe sorta, just how _built_ he is. It’s also appreciated. He rests his chin against a flushed abdomen. “It’s not overconfidence if you can back it up.”

“I’m glad you’ve learned.” 

The muscles he has create great dips for Hinata’s tongue to find itself in, or places for him to put his lips, or lines to pull his nails down. Gently, teasingly, he coaxes short breaths out of Kageyama that he controls with where he touches. He makes a moan shudder as he tongues down the line of his stomach, curling his thumbs around the band of Kageyama’s track pants.

As he slides them off, as if pulled like a puppet on a string, a reddened Kageyama comes to a sitting position, his blush dripping down from his face to the rest of him. It’s quite a sight. “What’s that face for, King?” teases Hinata as he does away with the pants.

Kageyama grabs the top of his head and yanks him closer, fist full of orange hair, and from where Hinata had been crouching, he clambers to his knees. His heart fuzzies through him like soda foam overflowing from a can at the intensity simmering in the look he’s given, as if Kageyama stole all the blue film from their walls and siphoned it into his fiery eyes.

Kageyama’s never been one to be all too _rough_ with him, perse, but even so, a thrill pierces through him all the same…

“Having fun?” murmurs Hinata, hoisting Kageyama’s legs up over his shoulders, pulling himself in closer. The backs of his knees fall into place easily, and Hinata presses his cheek into his inner thigh, gazing up at him as a somewhat sardonic grin crosses over him.

It’s the same confident, cocky expression he wears on the court, when they kill a quick, when he nails a particularly gnarly dump, when he and Hinata are on different teams and he completely shuts down one of his attacks. On its way up his windpipe, Hinata’s breath trips, hitching before he can exhale fully against smooth, tender skin.

If Kageyama hadn’t ended up at Karasuno -- if he had been accepted into Shiratorizawa, like he was intending, or if he had gone to Aoba Johsai like so many in his cohort, Hinata wouldn’t be here.

Well, he doesn’t mean _here,_ as in, on his knees, between Kageyama’s legs, but that probably wouldn’t have happened, either.

Hinata doesn’t have time for regrets, nor does he really have time to sit and reminisce over missed chances and might have beens. Being the person he is, having the _body_ that he does, he had to keep running forward, full speed. At least, that’s all he had once believed.

He has long since abandoned any ill will for the height which he grew into, and over time, he learned how to continue onward with just as much diligence even if he must slow to a crawl to do so. He has become what he always dreamed of -- someone who gets to stay on the court as long as possible.

But he can’t help but feel if it were someone other than Kageyama, some other setter whom he walked in on, his first day of high school, his path to the top would have been much different. The footfalls might have been the same, in places, but even now, running his hands along the length of Kageyama’s legs, he can feel that same heat, the sting of the volleyball against his palm, as if it were the first time he got that toss.

Things change -- he changes, _they_ change, but that prickling, up and down and through his hand, has never once ceased to make him soar inside.

Everything was leading to this, huh?

Nails go down the side of Hinata’s face as Kageyama’s hands cup his chin, and his breathing thins as fingertips press down into the top of his throat, his head angling up to stare directly into his past, present, and future.

“Yeah.” The pressure subsides as Kageyama instead runs one hand through his bangs, pushing back messy locks of hair out of his forehead and looking down at him in a fashion that makes his stomach roll with unmitigated pleasure. “You’re fun.”

Kageyama manages to haul him up off the floor, his legs falling to the side, and inside of Hinata, everything flutters. He catches himself on his knees as he’s kissed deeply, passionately, warmth swelling in him as he’s taken in such an undoubtedly simple but devastatingly complex fashion. His tongue is like a dream; he tastes like everything Hinata’s conquered until this point.

He tastes like shared history, and playing together, and bitter defeats and incredible wins, he tastes like early mornings of hard training and late nights of studying and analyzing game footage, he tastes warm, he tastes like home, and he tastes like what Hinata has dedicated his whole soul to.

He tastes like love.

When they detach, languidly, Hinata lowers back to position, but he stops halfway, and leans into Kageyama, unravelling from him a hiss of pleasure that disappears into the bedroom air. He sinks downward, his teeth pulling at the band of his boxers, exposing him, stripping them away and pitching them off; they’re not needed.

Kageyama raises an eyebrow at him amusedly as he struggles a little during this. _Grr,_ titillating it may be, but it still doesn’t make it _not_ annoying!

“Right?” Hinata, again, lets his cheek fall to Kageyama’s thigh. He can tell, now, every breath that puffs out of him, makes Kageyama twitch. There’s a restlessness to him as he slowly, carefully, draws the knuckle of his bent index finger down his navel, humming softly, feeling it reverberate through him. “I’m oodles of fun.”

What’s _fun_ is teasing Kageyama Tobio, watching the most minute contractions of muscles below his skin, catching short vocalizations that, against his better judgement, rise from the stirred heat inside his chest and spill out all around them. Hinata can relate; that heat builds, too, in him, when they’re as they are. He can’t help it; he’s incredible.

Kageyama _never_ lets him get away with tomfoolery on the court. But in their bedroom, in their soft paradise, he’s able to exercise his right to it. How satisfying it is. 

“Sure,” says Kageyama, a short gasp lilting the end of his word. Hinata smirks, knowing all too well what it sounds like when he undoes.

His thighs are sturdy, powerful, as Hinata tentatively presses kisses to them, relishing in how his leg jerks, just slightly, in response. _No one else gets to see you like this,_ thinks he, _just me, me, me. Watch me do this. Watch me, Tobio._

He tongues up, grazing the fine, light hair that lives there, travels across stretching bone, all to the tempo of breaths he hears deepen, somewhat, in fervor.

Kageyama's stamina is nearly as neverending as Hinata's, but being the one to kickstart his unravelling is a sensation Hinata takes pride in, and considers irreplaceable.

After all, it would be a _little_ disappointing if the illustrious King of the Court got tuckered out by foreplay, wouldn’t it?

He's given pause, though, wrapping his hands around Kageyama, watching his reaction glow. "I'm glad I get to do this with you," he murmurs.

Kageyama leans back, clenching his jaw. "Do what?" he inhales, gesturing, "this?" Hinata moves his hands, and he stifles a moan as he continues to speak. It’s amusing. "Yeah, me too."

"No, no," Hinata interjects. Then, after a sheepish moment, he continues. "I mean, yeah, but I mean all of it. Everything."

When he peers down at him, Kageyama's face is brilliantly red and lovely, the slightest traces of sweat misting the sides of it. "Did you hit your head at practice when I wasn't looking or something?" he asks, managing even now to sound incredulous.

"Is it a crime to love you?" muses Hinata. "Besides," he goes on, smug, "you're always looking at me."

Kageyama threads his fingers through Hinata's hair. "Yeah, right," he scoffs. Hinata moves, suddenly, though, and it wipes any sarcasm off his face, replacing it with a jolt of pleasure. Hinata sits up, tipping his head to one side, grinning up innocently.

He _would_ call Kageyama's expression rueful, if it weren't shrouded in an impermeable, gentle haze of affection that lights every cell of his ablaze. "I love you, too," he goes, mouth twisted in a little pout, ruffling his hair.

"I know you do."

Hinata likes taking flight on the court, bound by nothing, limitless, but he also loves it here, down on his knees, with the man he loves, and will continue to love, until his heart stops beating, until his brain ceases functioning, until his lungs stop heaving.

And into his next life, no matter where it leads him, he will go on loving.

Forever, and ever.

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe i got through this entire 6k not smut fic without saying sex or dick once?  
> i'm writing more kghn as we speak. this was basically to practice writing sexual intimacy (not outright porn, though, as i said in a group chat with my friends, "the day i write dick in ass is the day i shuffle off this mortal coil") and also because life is stressful and school is stressful but they are soft and in love  
> anyways, my friend overwhelmingly_awesome once said to me "you're such a big kageyama simp i'm surprised you've never written kghn from hinata's perspective" and she's right! she's right. so now you have this. also o_a, as always, read through this b4 posting so she can hype me up <3  
> (fun fact: i finished writing this on break at work. even in capitalism there is time for foreplay)  
> hope you enjoyed! kudos n comment if you did <3  
> (technically this could belong to the btcu if i wanted but i need something standalone at some point)


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